Go, Dog, Go

Earlier today, I was leaning over patting Chupie. I still don't quite know what happened, but she lifted her head -- bulldogs have big blockheads, remember -- in such a way that it collided with the top of my head. It sounded like something broke (nothing broke). I instinctively reached my hand up to my head and applied pressure as tears sprung to my eyes.

Suddenly I realized I was full-out crying, and I couldn't quite separate physical from emotional so I wasn't even really sure why I was crying, although it really did hurt and I thought I might have a concussion. A concussion from a dog collision!

After that, I closed my computer and rolled out my yoga mat in the living room. I had come home early from my office since I didn't want to get caught walking in the rain. I didn't bother turning on the overhead light, since now we have this neon blue Jewish star hanging on the wall and the ambient light was better, anyway.

I did a very quiet seated practice, keeping my eyes closed for most of it. I have been feeling the drain lately of screens and what feels like near-constant exposure to blue light. I wonder sometimes how this affects our brains and thought processes in ways we may not even be aware of. I find myself curious on a regular basis about what would happen if it all went away, the smart phones and the internet, all of it. But that is a kind of fantasy that may be entertaining but also doesn't lead to taking any real responsibility for my time.

I remember writing at some point last spring -- it must have been around the time I rented my office -- that I wanted to go deeper and quieter, not necessarily bigger and louder, with my work. And I think in some ways this has happened. Having an actual space that's not my kitchen has gone a long way on that front. But some of it is also a matter of "you take yourself with you," and so the onus lands back with me to be honest with myself when I am craving a different kind of listening.

I am craving that kind of listening right now, and the thing is, I don't even really know what I mean by that -- which is usually a signal that it's not something to figure out. I've done this dance for a good long while now, the one where I resist the yearning to do less, and need to feel my way towards remembering that doing less has never once let me down or steered me wrong.

We are so conditioned to go, dog, go. No matter the season on the year, the season of our lives. I myself school folks to "keep going," for goodness sake! But when I say, "keep going," I do not mean, "Go, dog, go" at all costs and at the expense of your body, mind, and spirit. I mean trust your path. Really listen to what you need and what you don't need.

What do I need right now? Probably nothing more than a few days off, which I plan to take the last week of the month. What don't I need? Self-judgment and self-imposed pressure to keep up.

The world will not crumble if you pause. The world will not crumble if I pause. The world will not crumble if the thing you are working on takes much, much longer than you ever could have imagined. But the world might crumble if you ignore what your soul is telling you, if you deny what your body needs, and if you override the deep knowing that never, ever leaves.

When my head collided with Chalupa's head today, it's almost like it jolted me into some kind of awareness that perhaps I really needed, one that said: Go sit down. Go lie down. Go close your eyes. Go be slow and quiet. Go, dog, go -- but not in the way you've been trained to think of it.

There are just 11 days until Solstice. These are long, dark nights. Let's let them be. Let's let ourselves be quiet.